Orchestration
by konfessor2u
Summary: Sherlock and John run into someone they know at the BDSM club. What happens now that their secret is out? Warnings: Light BDSM, B/s relationship, threesome M/M/M.
1. The Club

John continued crawling on his knees, yielding to the tug of the leash clipped on his leather collar. When Sherlock came to a stop, they were just at the end of the bar and he settled back on his heels, his hands neatly folded in his lap.

"Never thought I would see you here." Sherlock said to someone at the bar. John knew better than to look up to see who he was speaking to, it was most likely an old friend, another Dom from his "training days". It made his pulse quicken to think that Sherlock might give him away to another Dom for the night. He preferred Sherlock over anyone else, but he trusted him to not choose a stranger and from time to time enjoyed being used by another. John simply waited patiently, closing his eyes and searching for his obedient headspace.

"Christ, Sherlock! I—um, shit, yeah. Uh...same to you. Is that—is that John?" The man bent down to look John in the face.

Before he even opened his eyes, he knew who it was. That voice was one that he heard every day. His guess was confirmed when he open his eyes to see Greg Lestrade peering down at him in wonder. Immediately, John's whole body was flushed with a mix of embarrassment and pleasure, the kind of which he thrived on. Being subservient here in the club where they would most likely not see anyone they knew was one thing. Being on display for Lestrade, who knew them and respected John for his work, in nothing but his black pants and leather collar was arousing yet disconcerting.

John cast his eyes down to the floor, trying to mentally fight the erection struggling to escape his tight black briefs. _I wonder if he is a Dom or a sub. _John figured that he would be one or the other as people didn't come to this club just to watch. It was frowned upon. _What if he was a Dom?_ This last thought effectively caused John to lose the battle to his growing cock, a wet spot forming on the front of the fabric for all to see.

He felt Sherlock's slim fingers brush through his short hair as he continued to talk with the detective inspector. "What are you doing here, Lestrade?" Sherlock was speaking deeper than usual, using his voice to manipulate, as always. The tone was different from his everyday voice, it was his "Dom voice".

"I, uh… I was just havin' a drink. Is that a crime?" John smirked knowing that by the sound of it and what he could see in his peripheral vision, that Lestrade was avoiding looking directly at Sherlock. Lestrade made a point to turn away and knock back the last of his beer as proof to why he was there.

"Look at me."

The man's head whipped around quickly to look at Sherlock, and John smiled to himself. S_ubmissive._ Another Dominant wouldn't be reacting this way to him. He couldn't tell if this fact about Lestrade excited him or not.

"Boy." The grip in John's hair tightened and Sherlock tilted his head back so he could look up at the two of them. "Get dressed, we're going home." He quickly obeyed and left the two at the bar.

"I really should be off too." Lestrade tried to slip past Sherlock but was stopped with a firm hand on his chest.

"You'll be coming with us, Lestrade. I can tell you are looking for something to do tonight." Lestrade didn't answer but looked down at Sherlock's hand on his chest. When the silence between them stretched out just long enough, Sherlock spoke again, a whisper in his ear hot and close. "I'll tell you what you are going to do tonight, things you'll have to do to John. If this doesn't suit you then you _should_ go home now. But if you decide this is something you want, you'll answer me with a 'yes or no, sir' only. Do you understand?"

Greg swallowed thickly as he watched John return to them, completely clothed now and the collar removed. The man looked uncomfortable, shifting himself in his trousers and still avoiding looking at Lestrade.

"Yes, sir."

* * *

**Teehee, please review if you'd like an update. Cheers!**


	2. Limits

After three "yes, sirs", two minor mental freak outs, one insanely long ride back to 221B Baker Street, and exactly zero glances at either Sherlock or John, Lestrade found himself climbing the steps into the flat.

Without prompting, John put the kettle on and Sherlock ordered the inspector to sit, which he did without hesitation in one the large armchairs. The silence was making Greg nutty, he just wanted it to start or not start. Waiting was slowly killing him but he didn't say otherwise; he knew that Sherlock could tell regardless. John presented him with a cuppa and he simply grunted.

"What you meant to say was, 'Thank you, John'," Sherlock's stare from his place at the window was intense.

Greg croaked out a "Thank you, John" as he lifted the cup his lips, looking intently at the carpet. The tea was scalding hot but he sipped anyway, desperate for the awkwardness to be over.

Beside him, Jon began stripping out of his clothing. Greg's peripheral vision didn't allow him much, with Sherlock's eyes on him he didn't want to risk a glance at John even though it took all of his will power to not look. From what he could tell, John was again just in his black pants and the man immediately dropped to his knees, head bowed, waiting. Burying his face in his mug, Greg struggled against the naughty thoughts drifting through his head, thoughts provoked by Sherlock's whispers at the club.

"Your limits?" Sherlock came to stand in front of John and Greg, towering over them both. While waiting for Greg to answer him, Sherlock bent to dig through the bag John had carried home from the bar. Greg cleared his throat finding it difficult to put what he needed into words. He watched Sherlock pull a leather collar from the bag and fasten it tightly around John's neck. Longingly, he watched as Sherlock hands lingered on John's neck a moment longer than necessary. _That. I need that._ He felt himself nearly panting with want.

His need did not go unnoticed by Sherlock who produced a second leather collar from the bag and stood tall again. "When I ask you a question, I expect an answer from you. Do you understand?" Sherlock's face and posture were stern but his voice a bit playful, thoroughly enjoying this.

"Yes, sir." Greg felt ashamed of already being a disappointment to Sherlock. It was hard to say what he needed; he just wanted to please Sherlock. His head hung heavily as he contemplated the things he wanted. It was by far easier to pick out the things that he didn't want. Not ever being in a solid Dom/sub relationship, he didn't know what sort of things would do it for him, but hard limits, they were easy for him.

"We can start with this. Head up." Greg snapped his head up, baring his neck for Sherlock to tighten the collar on him. Sherlock admired the collar, smiling broadly. "Now, kneel."

Greg moaned out loud at the command before scrambling to his knees next to John, and bringing his arms behind his back to rest.

"I'll ask you one more time, and if you don't answer me properly, then I will decide for you. What are your limits?"

"Uh… Sir, my hard limits are elimination, blood play, maiming and branding, you know, knife play and the lot. No body modifications." Greg could feel the heat creeping up his neck from under his shirt. Saying those words made him feel extremely filthy and he was already half hard in his trousers which only added to his embarrassment.

"Look at me." Sherlock's voice was calm and quiet and Greg's heart nearly melted at the soft look on Sherlock's face as he gazed up at him. "What of your soft limits?" He shivered as his hair was lightly stroked and he unconsciously leaned into the touch, craving more contact.

"I don't know, sir." He nearly sobbed. He just needed to be told. He needed to be filled with nothing but the desire to obey. The need was so great now that tears threatened to fall.

"You'll let me decide what they are?"

"Yes, please, sir. I want you to decide." Greg let his head fall down, staring at the floor. "_Please_."

Greg whined when Sherlock turned his attention back to John, running his hands down the man's neck and across his broad back, idly tracing the outlines of the scar there on his left shoulder. "Boy, have a look at him." Sherlock crouched behind John reaching around him to tease his nipples while whispering in his ear. John looked straight into Greg's big, brown eyes. "Can you see how much he needs this? He is begging already. I can only deduce that it is because of his stressful job, always in charge all the time. I think he wants to let go. What do you think, boy, should we help him?"

John sucked in a deep breath and let it out shakily. He understood Greg's raw, innate need to please. It was exactly how he felt before meeting Sherlock. Lost, with no one to tell him what to do, give him praise, to love him. Sherlock's hands continued to gently teased his nipples and his lips caressed that crazy sensitive spot on the back of his neck, sending delicious shivers up and down his spine. The tingles settled heavily in his cock, drawing out a tiny moan bordering on a whine. It made it hard to think, but luckily he already knew what he wanted.

"Yes, Sherlock." Greg bristled slightly at the fact that John didn't have to say, "Sir", but the feeling passed as he watched both John and Sherlock stare him down hungrily.

Then with a gentle shove in Greg's direction, Sherlock set things in motion. "Go to him, boy."


	3. Red Silk and Handcuffs

Sherlock took a seat in his arm chair to watch the scene unfold. He settled back into the cushions and crossed his ankle over his other knee. From this angle, he could see that Greg was shaking, vibrating with anticipation. His John, his pet was as steady as ever, his strong hands slowly and confidently unbuttoning Greg's shirt. He also observed that their eyes were locked, each carefully watching the other. John whispered something, but Sherlock allowed that figuring he was saying something to calm Greg's so obviously buzzing nerves.

When it came to the D.I.'s belt, the man sucked in a quick breath and held it as John pulled the belt from the loops of his trousers excruciatingly slow. Sherlock appreciated the bulge in the front of Greg's trousers and even more so as John unzipped them revealing deep red silk pants stretched tight over a growing erection. He hummed his appreciation at his John and newly found sub together on their knees in front of him, and _damn_, he was going to have to play his cards right if he wanted this to happen again. He was the Dom but Greg needed to be 100% consenting in order to play with them.

If the murmuring now leaking from Greg's pretty mouth as John lightly thumbed his nipples was any indication, Greg would certainly be back for more. He allowed John to explore Greg as the images of the permutations of sexual acts between the three of them flitted behind his eyes. His cock stirred supportively. Yes, this was going to be just fantastic. A loud, shuddering breath from Greg shook Sherlock from daydreaming of things the three of them could do together. It was time to get them done.

"Stop that, Boy." John immediately stilled his hands and stowed them behind his back. Greg bit back a desperate whine, knowing that he should just be thankful for any attention he received from the pair. He copied John and tucked his hands away.

"Gregory." _Shit_. He knew at that moment that he was well and truly fucked."Come here."

He stood obediently and shuffled somewhat shyly to stand in front of Sherlock, who before this night he knew just to be the world's only consulting detective. Sherlock uncrossed his legs and spread his knees to plant his feet more firmly. "Sit," he said with a wave to his legs.

Greg could feel the burning flush spread from his face down all over his body. He knew that Sherlock meant for him to sit on his lap, that much was obvious. The seconds ticked by and Greg was afraid any more delay and he would be punished. He was unsure of _how_ to sit on his lap. Should he straddle Sherlock like some wanton slut? Or should he sit sideways like a child on his father's lap?

Given the situation, he settled for placing his legs on either side of Sherlock's, it was intimate and made him feel like a complete tart, but hey, they were doing this weren't they? He was no small person and sitting atop Sherlock's legs made him feel even taller, out of place and extremely awkward, but the heat coming from the man below him was distraction enough from feeling too vulnerable.

"That's a good man." Sherlock purred, looking up at Greg's face fondly while effectively raising hairs all over his body with feather light touches to his thighs. The D.I. could almost forget that John was kneeling on the floor behind him but he quickly remembered that it was John's hands that were on him just a moment ago. When Sherlock's nimble fingers danced close to the edge of his pants, his breathing quickened, he was nearly in tears from the anticipation of it all but Sherlock wasn't giving in.

"Listen very carefully, Gregory." Greg melted all over again. His name spoken with emthat/em voice rendered him useless. "I'm going to tell you to do things, things you must do to yourself, John and I. You must trust me completely. Can you do that?" Greg nodded, he was so desperate at this point that Sherlock could tell him to jump from the Tower Bridge and he would probably agree to it.

"John is tough, he can take it and he trusts me ab-so-lute-ly." Emphasis on each syllable was accompanied by tiny pinches to the delicate skin on the inside of Greg's thighs.

"So, you'll do everything I ask. If you want out, just say so, and you can leave." Greg's heart sank at the thought of leaving now. He was too invested in the situation and way too turned on to entertain the thought.

"Yes, sir. I'll do anything you ask." And he would, forever and always, he decided. His head had never been as clear as it was right now. Greg had needed to be dominated for a very long time and even just giving up this small amount of control, he could feel all the stress from work ebb away until all he knew was Sherlock and John, here in this room.

A slow lazy smile spread across Sherlock's face, a genuine smile and it excited Greg beyond all imagining.

"Good. That's very good."

Sherlock reached over to rummage under a few magazines on the side table. Having found what he was looking for, he dangled a pair of handcuffs from his long, slim pointer finger in front of Greg. Greg knew that they were his, pinched from his belt during a case sometime last week. He knew that Sherlock pick pocketed him when he was bored, but what the genius didn't know was that Greg strategically placed his things in his pockets and on his belt, making it easier for Sherlock to nick them. It was a little game of his own, but Sherlock probably knew that he knew, he always does.

His voice was low and rumbling sending tiny reverberations into Greg who shivered slightly. "You are going to treat John like he is an uncooperative suspect. Cuff him, and please, do be rough with him."

Greg took his cuffs back from Sherlock with a "Yes, sir".

Sherlock gently pulled Greg's head down with a hand at the back of his neck to kiss him slow and sweet, like a lover. No one had ever kissed Greg like that, ever, and it was doing delicious things to his body, he was fully hard in his pants and the silk fabric did little to hide it. He reciprocated, eagerly giving himself over to Sherlock's soft, warm, wet mouth, which pulled away too soon, leaving him disappointed.

"Off you go, Detective Inspector." Sherlock said deviously, encouraging Greg to climb off his lap and do as he was told.


	4. The Punishment

John, being the good sub that he was, gave up the perfect amount of struggle for Greg before allowing the handcuffs to click shut on his wrists, pulling his arms behind his back. He ended up face down with Greg's knee laid lightly in between his shoulder blades, chest heaving ragged breaths, his darkened, deep blue eyes boring into Sherlock's.

Never, never in a million years did Greg think he would get off from handcuffing another person, and a man no less. Well, that much wasn't a surprise, he'd always considered himself to be bi-sexual but as he got older, he figured that it was because he was unable to admit that he was gay, 100% gay. It was a huge life changer considering he was with his ex-wife for the greater part of two decades and he had absolutely nothing to show for it.

The tiny scrabble on the ground for control over John left him panting, rock hard, and visibly straining against the red silk. It looked as if Sherlock, whose eyes were on John like a predator that has just found dinner, famished and ready to pounce, was also aroused. He didn't pounce though, as much as he'd like to, and instead sat forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees with his hands neatly folded.

"Gregory, you've done well bringing this good-for-nothing under hand." When Sherlock's sharp eyes slid to his face, Greg thought that his legs would turn to jelly at seeing the passion in them. Greg was sure that hearing his full name rumble from those thick, plump lips would never get old. It made his spine tingle, a prickling that settled deep in his pelvis, radiating out to his cock. To be honest, he was surprised that Sherlock even knew his real name, being mistaken for Gavin or Graham more often than not.

Greg smiled shyly, feeling proud, having pleased Sherlock. "Thank you, sir." He was positively gagging to touch himself, just one stroke would do, but knew that as a new submissive, he should be on his best behaviour.

"I know you want to touch yourself," Sherlock continued with that damn smirk on his face. Damn him for knowing fucking everything. "In time, you can. You'll just have to trust me."

"I always trust you." It was true, his career was on the line almost daily because he had faith in Sherlock Holmes, believed that he could solve any murder, both cleverly and efficiently. Greg would be in big trouble with his higher ups if they found out just how many cases that he had Sherlock on, but he trusted the man to get the job done. "Always, sir." He added the "sir" quickly at the end, not wanting to upset Sherlock, who simply smiled pleasantly.

Sherlock rose to stand infront of Greg but made no attempt to adjust his growing erection in his trousers. "I know, you do." They stood watching each other for a few moments. Greg looked away, feeling rather exposed and emotionally raw under Sherlock's scrutiny.

"Take John into my bedroom, put him face down on the bed with his legs spread wide and don't remove the cuffs. Sometimes he likes to get feisty when he can't get exactly what he wants. I do love a rebellious sub." A fond smile made the words seem a little less twisted. "Do remove his pants, however. I think they will only get in the way from here on out. I'll be there in a second."

Greg hauled John up from the floor and walked him out in front of himself as he would do with any convict. Before shoving him onto the bed, he couldn't resist a quick snog from the good doctor, something he was dying to do since he first saw him on a crime scene. He stepped around the shorter man and turned his face toward him with a palm to John's hot, blushing cheek. He pulled him close, trying to lick his way into that sweet mouth. To say the least, he was severely disappointed that John wasn't reciprocating. John didn't give in and open his mouth.

When Greg pulled back to see what was wrong, he noticed that John wasn't even looking at him. He was instead intensely focused on Sherlock leaning easily against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest, looking lazy and casual. Both Greg and John knew that anything Sherlock did was not lazy and certainly never casual.

"I didn't-" John began but Sherlock cut him off with a raised hand.

"I know you didn't. I have eyes, John, I could see what the Detective Inspector did when he thought you two were out of my sight. You will watch me punish him." Sherlock pulled a chair away from the corner of his room.

A cold sweat washed over Greg as he let go of the cuffs and stepped back from John. Punished? Like slapped on the hand with a ruler in grade school punished? Or banished from the room punished? Or whipped with a cane punished?

"Boy, lie down." John did, leaving Greg to stand alone.

"Sir, please, can you really blame me? I mean, look at him." Greg waved in John's direction, his voice getting louder in his defense. Sherlock only stood with a hand on the back of the chair, saying nothing and wearing his best poker face. "The man is bloody beautiful." This time he was quieter. He couldn't look at either of them, so Greg chose to focus on the chair, the intricate pattern in the upholstry on the seat.

"Of course, I cannot blame you for thinking that. I know he is gorgeous." Sherlock looked to John's face for a moment, smiling slightly. When he turned back to Greg, the smile was gone.

"I can't, however, have a submissive that doesn't follow my orders." He let that sink in a moment while he made himself comfortable in the chair, facing himself toward the bed. Sherlock noted that John was smiling, enjoying himself, but his eyes were closed peacefully, comfortable. He fought to keep his own smirk under control, watching Greg shiver in the middle of the room, naked and alone, waiting for his punishment.

Sherlock curled a finger at Greg, motioning for him to come, which he did so fast it was almost absurd. He stood in front of Sherlock, practically withering under his penetrating gaze. He felt his red silk pants being pulled down over his now half hard cock and when prompted, he lifted each foot to step out of them. For a moment he thought Sherlock was going to take him in hand from but he swiftly recalled that this was to be a punishment.

"Lie across my lap." Sherlock demanded, the order was simple, but firm.

Greg struggled internally about being humiliated and reduced to being treated like a child. He knew what lying across Sherlock's lap would mean. A spanking. The last time he was spanked was when he was 4 years old and that memory just barely danced on the edge of his mind. He had crossed the road without an adult. Luckily, he was ok and he had lived on a quiet street growing up but his father was furious and scared that he would do it again. Tears, he remembered the tears. He never crossed the street like that again.

It was awkward, trying to balance himself there on Sherlock's boney thighs, his erection trapped uncomfortably between them, but he kept his mouth shut, taking the discomfort as part of the punishment.

"How many do you think he needs, Boy?" Greg silently prayed that John would be good to him and not name a number that would turn him into a crying, babbling mess.

"I think ten is appropriate, Sherlock." Greg breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing slightly under Sherlock's hand rubbing on the small of his back.

John opened his eyes, there was no way he was going to miss this. He knew what Sherlock could do to a man with his punishments and John wanted to see the exact moment when Greg realized that he liked being spanked like a naughty child who misbehaved.

"Ten, Greg. Count them aloud for me. If you need to stop, say red." Silence stretched out between them, the air hanging heavy with tension. "But of course, if we do stop, you'll have to leave."

Damn him and his fucking ultimatum. "Yes, sir, I'm sorry I disobeyed you and I need to be punished." He hung his head and waited. If he wanted to please Sherlock, he needed to know his boundaries.

The first strike came fast after that, the sound of it rang loud in his ears, the sting of it drew the air from his lungs. It took a moment for him to breathe again.

"One."

"Wonderful, Greg. I wish you could see how good my handprint looks on your arse, it's exquisite."

The next slap was in exactly the same spot and Greg swore under his breathe, clenching his teeth.

"Two." He gritted out.

Thankfully, the next was on the opposite cheek and Greg breathed easier, even if only slightly.

Three, four, five, six, each fall landing on alternating sides.

After the seventh strike, Greg heard John chuckling after a quiet moan escaped him. He counted this one out in a shaky, breathy voice, surprised that he had actually reacted that way; this was supposed to be a punishment after all.

"Eight," he groaned. A found himself rocking his hips forward, searching for any sort of friction, not giving a fuck that his pre-come was smearing all over the leg of Sherlock's trousers.

"Stop that." Sherlock's voice cut into his hazy, pleasure drunk mind. He stilled his hips despite all of his desire to just fucking toss one off. The remaining slaps came swiftly and after counting the tenth, he slumped into Sherlock's lap, completely boneless.

Greg was guided to the bed and laid down gently. He moaned as the duvet cover rubbed on his red, raw arse, but he rolled to his side to face John to avoid any more stimulation. That is when he saw the grin, that knowing smile on John's face.

"What are you smiling like that for?" He also couldn't help noticing that John was positively squirming, grinding his pelvis down into the bed. He understood the need.

John's grin widened and he groaned a little as the bed provided the prefect amount of pressure on his trapped cock. "I told you that he would take care of you."


End file.
